Three Inch Nails
by Tsia
Summary: Sam and Dean go investigating something strange outside of Memphis. The brothers get separated and that spells trouble for Dean. Sam to the rescue! warnings: violence and language


Title: Three Nails

Author: Tsia

Warn: Language, Violence

Details: Borrowing, not mine

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Sam and Dean had been investigating the rumors of 'something strange' going on at an abandoned warehouse just outside of the city of Memphis. During their initial research they found out that in the past four months, three men had gone missing without a trace. Nothing had proven conclusive whether or not the men had been victims of foul play; the police cases had run cold. Thinking that this was their kind of gig, they went to check it out.

The brothers had not been there twenty minutes when they stumbled upon a four men in the upper level of the warehouse, were spotted, then chased. Dean yelled for Sam to get to the car and meet him around back, tossing him the keys. The last he saw of his brother was his departing backside sprinting down the stairs. He took off in the opposite direction, drawing the attention of their pursuers, which worked too well because within five minutes Dean was tackled, subdued, and dragged into the room he was in now.

Three of the four men were in the room with Dean, the two that held him and the one asking the questions, and the fourth guarded the door. After frisking him they did not find any identification but took his cell phone, two knives, and his .45.

At first it did not seem too bad:

"Who are you?" slapping.

"Who do you work for?" hitting.

"Where is your partner?" kicking.

Dean was pretty much addled and defiantly not answering any of the man's questions, who looked like a cross between Gene Simmons and Joe Dirt. When he was beaten and bleeding on the floor, the men took his jacket.

"Perfect fit," said the one who looked like Tom Arnold. Then they took his shoes.

"Hey, these will fit my brother," said the other who looked like a fat Billy Bob Thorton.

"Make sure he stays here," ordered Gene Dirt as he left. Tom held a gun on him while Billy Bob left to find something to tie Dean with. When he came back he did not have rope.

"This was all I could find," Billy Bob grinned, evil in his eyes.

"What the hell?!" Dead exclaimed at the sight.

Tom laughed as he hauled Dean over to the table butted up against the far wall, the only piece of furniture in the room. He then held Dean's left hand flat while Billy Bob nailed it to the tabletop. Dean could not over power the two men, scream loud enough, or pass out to get away from the pain.

Leaning on the tabletop over his brutalized hand Dean gasped, "You could have at least got them in straight," as a departing barb, his head hanging down, eyes shut tight. 'weak,' he thought to himself but he had to have the last word. The men only laughed as they left the room. Dean stood clutching the tabletop, his legs threatening to buckle, trying not to move, to stay upright, to control the pain. His ragged breaths punctuated his anguish.

When he recovered enough to move without collapsing, Dean carefully pulled off his socks and pressed one to his wounded left hand. When the cotton was soaked through he discarded it for the other. When that one was bloody but not soaked he finally looked at his hand, the bleeding seemed to have lessened.

The men in fact did get one of the nails in straight, the middle one just below the middle and pointer finger knuckles. The outside one just below the pinky and ring finger knuckles was bent over, the nail head cutting into his flesh. The inside one near the thumb was angled in towards the palm. Dean nearly vomited at the sight, his stomach doing flip flops. The pain shooting up his arm and radiating down his back was almost unbearable. Any faction of movement amplified the pain a hundred fold.

Tears of pain ran down his face. 'where are you, sam?' he wondered, contemplating his situation. Dean was going to have to pry the nails out, however, being 10 penny nails he was not going to pull them out with just his fingers. He surveyed the room looking for something to help him.

The room was about 10 foot by 10 foot, most of it being taken up by the table; windowless, featureless, grey-brown that stank of mold, mildew, blood, and sweat, the latter two being Dean's. He then studied the piece of furniture, it was about 5 foot long and 4 foot deep. 'table or desk? I don't see any drawers, maybe I can bust it up,' he thought. His efforts left him panting for breath through a ragged throat because he had screamed in pain and frustration. Also, his hand had started to bleed with new vigor. All was for naught, the table was one of those that was like a hundred years old, solid as a rock, and weighed a ton. 'no wonder it had taken dickhead so long to hammer the nails into it,' Dean realized trying to not focus on his aching hand.

After vomiting up what was left of his lunch he tried another round of searching his clothes. An idea came to him, so logical that it just might work. Dean attempted to use his belt buckle to lever the nails out. It was metal and was strong enough not to bend. But after only two tries he realized he did not have enough strength, plus the buckle kept slipping off the blood slicked nail heads. It hurt like hell causing blackness to edge his vision and him to dry heave the nausea away.

In what felt like hours later,'shit, it's cold in here' thought Dean, 'and those bastards are mean.' He had no idea what they were into, but one thing was for sure, nothing supernatural was going on here. He did not want to entertain the idea that Sam had gotten captured too. 'just stay far away from here sam,' mentally trying to keep his brother safe, though he did so want to see his younger brother come bursting in with guns blazing to haul his sorry ass out of this dump. 'that would so be nice and a cup of hot coffee and a big damn blanket' He was shivering from the chill in the air and the pain in his body.

The bastards had busted his nose, 'don't think it's broken' and split his bottom lip. He wiped the blood and sweat off his face with his bloody sock then tossed it aside with the other bloody one. 'I need to do laundry more often,' he thought with a chuckle. That bit of mirth cost him in pain, reminding him that not only did they nail his hand to a table but they also bruised several ribs, 'hope they are not cracked'. His right eye was swelling shut but at least he could still see out of the left. Foremost, the three nails in his hand were agony, a trinity of pain, with steady white hot stabs of pain shooting from his hand up his arm and down his back, adding to the discomfort. 'better not have ruined it so I can't drive,' absurd thoughts ran through his mind in a effort to think of anything else other than his situation.

'forty five minutes? is that all?' checking the time for they did not take his watch. Dean was cold, tired, and hurting. He was now kneeling on the filthy floor with his head against the table watching his blood slowly drip from the far side of the tabletop, forming a puddle. He had not heard anything except for his labored breathing for another half hour so he jumped at the sound of the door opening. Gene Dirt, Tom, and Billy Bob walked in. Dean stood up and turned to face them not wanting to give them any advantage.

Gene Dirt was not in a happy mood. Again with the questions, again with Dean not answering the way the man wanted.

"Who are you?" demanding.

"Papa Smurf," flippant.

"Who do you work for?" impatient.

"K.A.O.S." impertinent.

"You will tell me," murderous.

"Yeah or you will kill me? Dude, I've had worse than you try," cocky.

For his smart-assed remarks Gene Dirt had Tom brake all of Dean's fingers on his right hand, including the thumb. He screamed his pain despite not wanting to show any weakness. Surprised he had not fallen down, Dean stood hunched over, leaning on the table he was nailed to gasping for.

'hey sam, anytime now.' He had broken fingers before, just not all at once. 'damn it, that hurts, shit!'

"No, you will wish you were dead," Gene gave Dean a stare that could freeze an ocean. "Now, who do you work for?"

"The Tooth Fairy," Dean spat, staring defiantly back, right hand curled to his chest in an effort to alleviate the throbbing.

Billy Bob took inspiration from the belt that Dean had left on the table. Wrapping it once around his fist, he used it as a whip. The buckle bit into Dean's back, his t-shirt doing little to protect him. Billy Bob whipped him until he was unconscious, hanging from his mangled hand.

"Enough," commanded Gene Dirt, "We will continue when he regains consciousness." Turning to leave, he said to the guard, "Call me the moment he wakes."

"Yes, sir," answered the guard, watching his boss and two flunkies leave, then turned to the man in the room. Making sure that the other three were indeed gone, he walked over to him. He had known that it was going to be bad, having heard the screams. The man's back was torn to shreds, he saw the discarded belt that did the damage. The man's left hand was a bloody mess, 'going to be nerve damage there,' the three nails that secured him to the table were tearing his flesh and him hanging from them was not helping. 'I bet you are another stupid college kid coming in on a dare. you've got to get out of here,' the guard's mind searched the possibilities, none of them plausible without help. He wanted to call it in and have the police raid the place, but he did not think the investigation was close enough to warrant it. He did not want another innocent killed, but he did not want two years of deep cover to go down the drain either.

"Sorry kid, but this is bigger than you," sadly the guard returned to his position at the door.

Dean awoke with a moan, pain all over his body, 'shit, hurts.' Thinking was hard to do, his mind would not focus.

"Sammy, are you alright?" he muttered, his eyes shut tight trying to push down the pain, 'damn it, I didn't think he got me that bad,', he opened his left eye and looked around, everything was blurry. 'fuck!' He could not pinpoint the part that hurt the most, at the moment all were battling for top billing. 'got to get out of here, find sammy and dad. dad is going to be pissed I let that black dog get away.' Struggling, he maneuvered himself up onto his knees, leaving him breathless and blinded by pain. His back was on fire and every time he moved it sent wave after wave of agony through his entire body. He could feel the blood soaking into his jeans and drying what was left of his shirt to his skin. 'thirsty, cold, hurts, this is not...cave...' Dean was shivering again which added to the pain.

"Sam?" he wheezed glancing up at the table, 'why can't I move my arm, damn it, I hope I did not break it.' When he steadied himself, he pulled himself up so that he was standing, more like leaning over the table than standing on his own. He was sweating with the effort, he was so queasy the urge to vomit again was strong. When he saw his hand it hit him, bringing him back to reality. 'damn, shit, fuck -- warehouse, assholes.' Shaking his head to clear it just made him dizzy, but brought him fully to the present. 'got to stay focused, can't let that happen again.' Looking at his watch, 'barely two hours since all this crap started. where are you sam? are you coming?' Desperately he looked around the room again for something to get the damn nails out. Seeing for the first time since it happened his right hand, 'not that I could pick anything up anyway. shit and I thought the left was screwed' All of his digits were black and blue, crooked and swollen, he wished he could not feel them. 'maybe I could just force the nails through,' the thought flashed hope then nauseated him.

Dean heard movement at the door, 'not again,' he turned, bracing himself. Blinking his left eye to clear it, he saw the fourth man come into the room. When it registered that the man was alone, he begged, "Dude, help me, please," just wanting to get away from here not caring how he sounded.

The man, who looked like George Forman only bigger, took out his cell phone, hesitating, "You should not have come here." The finality in his voice chilled Dean more than the cold air. George turned away making the call, "Sir, he is awake," then closed the door.

"FUCK YOU!" Dean flung uselessly after the man, slumping back down.

'no, no, no,' Dean could not think of anything else to do, he had to get out of there before the other three returned. 'to hell with it, sam can drive damn it!' Steeling himself, he pulled up with all his strength, screaming out his pain, determination, and desperation, trying to yank his left hand off the table. He collapsed in a heap on the tabletop, barely breathing, tears streaming down his face mixing with his blood. 'damn it, damn it all to hell!' All he had managed to do was cause himself immense pain and tear his hand making it bleed more, his effort was not enough to pull the nails through. Minutes ticked by and Dean still could not move, he had expended all of his energy. Black spots floated in his vision, a buzzing filled his ears, his mind scattered, thoughts drifted.

'I never wanted body piecing,' Dean thought with a chuckle staring at the metal in his hand. His mind was growing more fuzzy, 'sammy, where are you? did you finally ditch your pathetic loser big brother?' pain and panic clouding his thoughts. 'three nails, gene, tom, billy bob'

In an attempt to breathe easier he shifted, that caused him to slide down to the floor. He tried to catch himself but his body would not cooperate. Crying out in agony when he banged his right hand into the table and the nails bit into his flesh of his left again. 'you were the first and will be the last, sam, always the most painful.' His mind tripped back to the day Sam left for college, 'the first nail' ripped through his heart, tearing his family apart. Dean's mind went to the night he knew that is father was not coming back. 'the second nail' tearing away his security, 'my own father does not want to be around me.' Finally, the night they fought the daevas and Meg. 'you have to let me go, Dean.' Sam never wanted this life and would not stay in it any longer than he had to. Sam wanted and needed "normal" and as much as it hurt Dean, he could not deny his younger brother. 'the third nail' would destroy him. However, now he did not have to face that nail, he would die here, nailed to this fucking table. He drifted, 'three nails killed me'.

Dean was jarred awake with a wave of agony when he heard noises: banging, footsteps, voices. He did not know how long it been, 'please let it be sam', he wished. Leaning his forehead against the tabletop he waited he did not have the strength to turn to face the door, let alone stand. He flinched when he heard the door bang open, otherwise he did not move.

"In here, I found one, oh shit, send the EMTs up here now, top floor, north side, fourth door on the right."

He registered words but not meanings, 'not sam, damn it' he thought sadly.

"Hey, buddy?"

Dean felt a touch, cringing he cried out in pain, then flailed at his attacker with his right arm, he was not going to go easily.

"Easy buddy, I am trying to help you."

Confused, Dean stilled, pulling his throbbing hand to his chest, panting. 'what? help?' He could not feel the touch anymore, he slowly turned his head to see who was there, he heard a gasp. His left eye barely focusing, he saw someone in a yellow and tan suit with a helmet kneeling next to him. 'fireman.'

"I'm s-stuck-k," was all that he could think of to say, looking up toward his left hand.

"Stuck?" confused the fireman stood, looked at what Dean indicated and paled. "Shit, what the hell?"

Dean was shivering again, "Three n-nails-s," he whispered.

"I'm going to need a crowbar, too," the fireman said into his radio, "yeah, I said crowbar."

Dean closed his eye, sighed deeply, waiting for the pain to subside from all the activity.

"Hey, buddy stay with me. What is your name? How are you feeling?" the fireman was trying to keep him awake until the emergency workers got there.

"Papa Smurf," Dean opened his eye and whispered without thinking, "I'm fine." He tensed when he heard more footsteps.

"I don't think that he is coherent, he's in shock," the fireman addressed the people who just arrived. Dean relaxed a bit and listened with little interest as they assessed the situation, everyone seemed so far away.

A new person came into his line of vision, "What is your name?"

Dean tried to focus, the woman's face kept blurring. "Dean," he softly said.

"Dean, I am Pam, I want you to answer some questions."

He frowned, the calvary had arrived but they had not saved him yet. He felt hands on him again causing him to moan in pain. His shirt was being cut off of him, though he scarcely noticed.

"Fuck!" he hissed as his back wounds were being tended to, causing him more pain.

"What-t t-took you so l-long?" Dean stuttered though clenched teeth to take his mind off what was being inflicted on him.

Pam asked "What is today?"

"T-tuesd-day"

"What is the date?"

"D-date? H-how 'bout-t F-frid-day?" his weak smile turned into a grimace, 'shit'. He could barely think with all the pain he was feeling, 'what the fuck? they are supposed to make the pain stop.'

"Give me that blanket. We have to get him out of here."

"Okay, we're ready."

"The shot should have taken affect by now."

"Alright, here we go."

Dean screamed bloody murder, flailing about to get away from the pain. 'they hurt as bad coming out.' Hands were holding him down.

"FUCK!"

"Hold him! I thought you said you gave him a shot? We have two more to go."

"I did, it must not be working yet."

"Damn it!"

"Just finish it, we've got to get him to the hospital. Again, now!"

Dean's scream was not as loud as last time nor as long because thankfully he passed out. Within a relatively short period of time he was released from his prison, stabilized enough to move, and shipped off to the hospital.

The next thing Dean registered was the absence of feeling, absolutely nothing. He had felt so much in those few hours he did not want to feel again. He reveled in his non-sensory perception, as if the world had gone away. Though bit by bit the world was coming back.

Flash of light, his eyes fluttered. Whisper of sound, "Dean". A ghost of touch, tentative hand on his shoulder. Waft of aroma, disinfectant. Hint of taste, coppery.

"Sam?" Dean whispered, searching.

"Yeah Dean, I'm here," there was hope and joy in that blessed voice.

He smiled weakly, "Sam, where are we?"

"We're at the hospital. I sorry I did not get to you sooner, I..." Sam was sitting in a chair next to Dean's bed.

Dean was laying on his right side facing his younger brother. He saw the guilt in Sam's eyes, "So you sent the fire department to save me?"

Sam smiled, "It was all I could think of at the time." He looked away, "I had to leave because those guys were chasing me. It took me about an hour to shake them. When I went back to get you I could not find you. I tried to get back in the warehouse but there were men at everywhere. Whoever owns that place has tight security." Sam felt bad for not being able to get to Dean. "So I called 911 saying that there was a fire."

"Dude that is pretty heavy stuff calling in a fake emergency" Dean huffed out he still was having problems breathing.

"Hey, there was a fire, after I set it," Sam grinned.

"So we can add arson to your list of felonies." Dean smiled at his little brother.

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